"Something along those lines," she quipped in return. Cagey as all get-out. Government worker was a term so bland and empty that it might as well do her a disservice -- and yet blithely agreeing with it was about as safely as she could tread. To protest would be childish, because she clearly was finding some modicum of comfort in this setting. To explain it all would be fool-hardy.

Peggy stayed seated and gave the man a second long look. All observation -- picking up on the strange fashion coupled with good-quality fabrics. Ah, that was something any survivor of the Great Depression (even in London) managed to notice rather promptly: the literal cut of a man's cloth.

"But not for any government present here, I'm afraid. Colour me as lost and lamb-like as you--"

Acerbic. Bone-dry and (above all) armoured. Where she'd exhibited kindness to other strangers, she rankled immediately under this man's smooth and confident demeanour. Under another context, she might have found it all more charming. There was something to be admired in a casual conversational spar.